


𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑊𝑒 𝐷𝑜 𝐼𝑠 𝐷𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑒.

by abadeerly



Series: Things We Said [2]
Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, alcohol mention, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abadeerly/pseuds/abadeerly
Summary: 'Bonnibel is nineteen when she realises she’s in love with Marceline, which is funny considering she’s entirely sure that the other girl hates her.' AU. Part of a oneshot series based on 'Things We Said' prompts.
Relationships: Princess Bubblegum/Marceline
Series: Things We Said [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684594
Comments: 6
Kudos: 206





	𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑊𝑒 𝐷𝑜 𝐼𝑠 𝐷𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑒.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Bubbline Server](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Bubbline+Server).



> Prompt: Things you said while we were driving.

Bonnibel is thirteen when her mother first gets sick. 

It’s not serious at first, just a few appointments at the hospital, but it starts to eat into the mornings she’d usually drive Bonnibel to school. 

So her mother starts talking to the man next door. The one with the round, blue tinted glasses and long beard. The one with the sixteen year old goddaughter that wore thick, black eyeliner and too-heavy-boots. 

The first carpool was upsettingly awkward; Bonnibel had forgotten her bag (which, really, was incredibly unlike her) and the older girl had to turn the car around halfway into their journey, resulting in a few obscenities grumbled under her breath that were no doubt directed at _her_. However, arriving at school as soon as the bell had rang wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened, so Bonnibel was sure to thank the older girl dressed in all black before she clambered out of her beat up, red pickup truck (making sure she grabbed her bag from beside her feet too). 

The first handful of times were very similar. Minus the missing bag and getting there later than when she preferred. Marceline (she had learned that that was her driver's name, when she had been approached by a friend in the school parking lot) made a point out of the fact that she definitely did not want to talk to Bonnibel whatsoever while driving to and from her house. A radio station was blasted all too often, or maybe she’d tell her to shut up because she was concentrating on the road (she wasn’t - half the time Marceline would be texting someone who Bonnibel later would learn was called Keila). 

“What are they even making you do, anyway?” was the first question that came out of Marceline’s mouth that wasn’t something along the lines of telling Bonnibel to shut up. It almost surprised Bonnibel, _almost_ , because she had seen the way Marceline side eyed the box on her lap at the previous two red lights. 

So Bonnibel _beamed_ , more than happy to explain what she was going to do. “They’re letting me do an experiment to show the science class,” she fished out one of the two plastic bottles in the box. “I’m going to tape two bottles together and use science to make a tornado effect with the liquid that’s inside the other one.” 

“Right,” Marceline drawled and rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she turned her focus back to the road in front of her. Then, when Bonnibel thought she was going to say something else that was no doubt sarcastic, she jabbed her thumb onto one of the buttons on the dashboard and the radio burst into life.

It drained the fun out of doing the experiment in front of the class. Bonnibel supposed her lack of enthusiasm revealed itself during her demonstration, as many of her fellow peers watched on equally as bored as Marceline had been in the car. She made sure to throw the box away before she let Marceline drive her back home, disappointed in herself as an aspiring scientist. 

* * *

Bonnibel is fifteen when her mother passes away.

According to the doctors, they never even saw it coming. ‘Unseen and entirely unavoidable’ were words Bonnibel remembered being said to her father. 

Taking time off school was the exact opposite thing Bonnibel felt like she should be doing after that. She wanted to bury herself in school work, wanted to remain being seen as the composed one in her friend group. Wanted nothing more than to take her mind off _that_ and how the house felt empty without her. She became all too grateful for the garage that she had turned into her pseudo lab, padding downstairs in her slippers every morning to get started on reading a new textbook front to back or start a new mini experiment using the chemistry set she had been gifted a few years after she found her love of the sciences.

Marceline had almost left her mind completely. The only remnants of her that remained were in Bonnibel’s anxiety ridden questions. How was she going to get to school? Probably Marceline. Was her dad going to be able to continue paying Marceline? Probably. Maybe. Bonnibel wasn’t sure. And it irked her. Bonnibel was sure about most things. 

The gentle “Are you okay?” that Marceline uttered halfway into driving her to school for the first time since _that_ had happened was entirely out of the blue and not like her. Bonnibel almost wanted to double check she had gotten in the car with the right Marceline. 

“Yeah.” Bonnibel replied, scolding herself mentally for how weak it had sounded. She rested her head on the cool glass of the window. The weather was miserably grey (which was oddly poetic, really) and when the clouds _did_ decide to part it was only to let out drizzles of rain in a depressing manner. 

“Hey,” Marceline tried again at the next red light. Bonnibel felt a few fingers land on her shoulder, not a whole hand but it was physical interaction from _Marceline_. Bonnibel vaguely remembers the last time they touched each other; Marceline had helped her load her history project into the boot of her car and their hands had brushed in the passing of one of the two small boxes. This was deliberate, like the halfhearted handshake Marceline had offered under the gaze of her uncle. Only, this time there were no prying parental figures or expectancies of a good first impression. “Don’t bullshit me, Banner.” The tone of voice was stern, different from the fingers that were almost between wanting to settle at Bonnibel’s clavicle completely or dart away back to the wheel of the vehicle. “Are you okay?”

Bonnibel turned to look at Marceline, not at all surprised to see her twisted in her seat instead of looking at the traffic lights in front of them both. “Yes,” she pushed again, a little more sure of herself this time (although, there was also a part of her that was annoyed that this time, of all the times, Marceline was the one pushing for conversation when Bonnibel was trying to avoid it). She just didn’t understand why Marceline _cared_ so much suddenly. Unless, and it was very likely, her uncle had said something to her. Told her to be nice and understanding of Bonnibel’s situation. 

Marceline, meanwhile, arched her brow, clearly unconvinced. “Right, of course,” her usual sarcastic tone was back. “How stupid of me for thinking you were upset because of what happened, princess. Truly, my bad.” 

Bonnibel frowned at the nickname. “ _Princess_ ? Who do you think you are? It’s not like you even _understand_ -,” The car behind them honked its horn, signalling that Marceline was causing a mess at the intersection because she hadn’t been keeping her full attention on the red light. Of course she was. Bonnibel had to think long and hard about when Marceline _wasn’t_ causing a mess. The conversation was left to linger. 

* * *

Bonnibel is sixteen when she passes her driving test first try and despite not needing her anymore, she thinks about Marceline maybe a little too much on her trips to and from her home. 

* * *

Bonnibel is eighteen when she gets accepted into university. 

There wasn't any need for her to move onto campus; she barely used her car in high school and the big buildings were only a forty minute drive away from her house on the worst of days. She dipped her toes into campus life, though, went to one of the freshers parties to socialise with the help of a couple people that had gone to her highschool. 

Bonnibel is eighteen when she gets a boyfriend. She’s had a couple before, when holding hands threatened the fatal ‘cooties’ and dating for two weeks was a long time. His name was Ciaron and Bonnibel met him in her intro to chemistry lecture. He seemed sweet, albeit a little naive, and it’s exactly what Bonnibel needed for her first proper university boyfriend. 

She hadn't thought about Marceline in two years when she saw her again, a mane of hair stalking across the campus carrying a guitar case on her shoulder with those too-heavy-boots of hers and a coffee cup in hand (no doubt black). And it was so _weird_ . Weird because Bonnibel’s heart half groans (sighs) at the sight of her old preteen chaperone and half slams itself into her ribcage. Weird because Marceline doesn’t notice her (would she?) and Bonnibel _wanted_ her to. It’s weird because Bonnibel just stood and watched Marceline disappear around a corner. Because Bonnibel let out a breath she didn’t even realise she had sucked in. 

After that she thought about her whenever she found the time to. When it was the weekend and she’d completed all her work for the week. She assumed it was because it was just nice to know that Marceline was okay and still _around_. Peace of mind, in a way. But there was always the lingering bitterness. The fact that they argued way more than they should’ve. The fact that Bonnibel, despite her good nature, hated every previous interaction with Marceline. 

It seemed to be some sort of poetic injustice when Ciaron crashed her car one night in mid June. The world turning against her when the usual bus route, should she not have the car in her possession, was cancelled due to floods that same evening. 

“You better have the same number, Abadeer,” she grumbled into her scarf as she perched on the arm of her couch, scrolling through her contacts until she got to _Marceline_ _A._ She was beginning to thank the fact that she had a spare first thing on Monday mornings when two minutes passed and there was still no answer from her old… whatever she was. 

It was on her fourth attempt that Marceline picked up the phone. “What d’you want?”

“I’ll pay you to drive me to university for next… however many days the bus route is out?” Cutting to the chase was probably Bonnibel’s best method at getting Marceline to agree to her plan, if the grogginess in her voice was anything to go by. Offering payment straight away also meant there’d be no arguments straight out of the gate, too. 

There was a huff on the other side of the phone, and then “Yeah, whatever,” was mumbled after a minute of quiet contemplation. So Bonnibel hung up as fast as she could in case Marceline wanted to talk about whatever it is social recluses wanted to talk about at seven in the morning, walked into the hall to tug on her shoes and waited outside on her front step in the almost rain in case Marceline had forgotten where she lived (she didn’t want her honking her horn and waking up her poor father and neighbours). 

It was kind of stupid; Marceline only lived at the other end of the street and she could’ve very easily made her way over there in the time it took for Marceline to step out of her house and duck into her car. Bonnibel taking the time to watch her every move between locking the door and disappearing into the vehicle was also kind of stupid. Peace of mind, she kept telling herself. 

“Get in, princess,” Marceline called through a window that was only half open. The nickname very nearly made Bonnibel want to _walk_ to her destination, but there was something about the half grin on Marceline’s face that seemed to all intents and purposes be _friendly_. There was still that sleepy fog that hung about her eyes that made Bonnibel a little weary of Marceline biting her head off at some point in the next thirty five minutes.

The inside of the car was as messy as it always had been. The lack of change was somehow comforting to Bonnibel as she tugged her seatbelt around herself, shooting a nervous glance at the junior now watching herself as she ran a hand through her mane of hair in the rearview mirror. 

“I’ve seen you around campus,” she muttered, diverting her focus from her hair to Bonnibel to frown, brows furrowing and hurting Bonnibel just a little bit. “You could’ve said-,”

“I figured you’d be too busy.” Bonnibel cut her off quickly, shrugging a shoulder. “What with university being a lot of work and all.” 

Marceline sighed in response, both hands landing on the steering wheel as she turned in her seat to face fully forward. “Yeah,” she hummed, _finally_ putting her foot down and moving them along to their destination. “I guess that makes sense. What’s up with your car anyway, you finally total it?” 

Bonnibel cringed inwardly, turning her own head to glance at the rows of houses passing them by.. “Not exactly; my… friend loaned it for the night and-, well, drunk drivers, you know?”

“Christ, B,” Marceline’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. Bonnibel just thought too hard at the nickname (and why she hadn’t said the word boyfriend). “I was joking, is your friend okay?”

Bonnibel hummed in affirmative. “The guy hit the passenger side. Thankfully he had just dropped off his friends.” 

“Yeah, thankfully,” Marceline muttered. 

Bonnibel looked back over to her, surprised to see Marceline so tense in her seat. “You alright?” 

“‘M fine, thanks,” Marceline huffed, visibly letting her shoulders droop down. The iron grip she had on the wheel was difficult to miss, though. 

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, yeah,” 

“Bullshit.”

There was a pause then as déjà vu hit them both. Marceline forced a laugh through her teeth. “You just wouldn’t understand, princess.” And there was a bitterness behind her voice that scared Bonnibel. An icy bite to the (dumb) nickname that made her insides squirm. Peace of mind was suddenly out the window.

* * *

Bonnibel breaks up with Ciaron after two months. 

She tells him it’s not his fault, that it’s her. But it’s really _not_ . It’s Marceline Abadeer and the fact that she couldn’t even utter the word boyfriend to her. It’s Marceline Abadeer and the fact that Bonnibel always feels like she has something to prove to her. The fact that she felt shitty for doing an experiment that wasn’t up to her standards. The fact that she didn’t _bother_ to understand what Bonnibel’s life was like (and that Bonnibel _wanted_ her to bother). The fact that Bonnibel was at ease when she saw Marceline was okay and attending lessons. 

Then there’s that inkling in her brain that tells her it’s also something else entirely. That it _is_ him. Bonnibel shudders and pushes the thought away, the one with the obscene amount of thoughts about girls and how soft they look and how pretty they smell and-

Bonnibel comes out to herself two weeks after breaking up with Ciaron. 

And, stupidly, she rang Marceline up before she could stop herself. 

“What?” The greetings have become a lot less friendly now since their conversation in the car. They barely talk outside of texts and the forced ‘hey’s’ to one another when Bonnibel slides into the passenger seat (even though the bus route was back in service, Bonnibel hadn’t the heart to tell Marceline she was no longer needed). 

“I-, uh,” she swallows and suddenly wonders why she was even going to tell _Marceline_ of all people that she was gay. God, she really should’ve thought this one through. “I need to tell you something.” Truly, Bonnibel had never felt as dumb as she did then and there. 

“Go ahead, princess,” Marceline drawled, clearly bored (why didn’t she hang up?). “Or is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Pick me up in ten minutes?” Bonnibel squeaked. It was such a stupid question, she _knew_ that, but her brain was desperately working overtime and her heart just wanted to tell Marceline in person. Surprisingly, Marceline responded with a “Sure,” and hung up for her. 

Bonnibel waited outside for the red truck. 

Marceline was early by five minutes. 

“So,” Marceline started when they were at the first set of traffic lights. Bonnibel kind of wished these ones would stick to red for thirty minutes. “Where are we going?”

“Can’t we just… drive around?” Bonnibel murmured, sliding down in her seat as she watched people pass by the car. 

“You wanna _drive around_?” Marceline repeated. “I’m sorry, why am I here? Don’t you have other friends to waste their gas on you, princess?” 

“Stop calling me that!” Bonnibel snapped. Marceline’s brows did that thing where they vanished into her hairline. Then she thought about her answer to Marceline’s question. “I…” Why _did_ she go to Marceline first and foremost whenever she needed someone to drive her somewhere? Why _did_ Bonnibel think about the junior day in and day out? “I just miss you, alright?” 

The static silence was drowned out by Bonnibel’s blood thumping in her ears. It’s as if she’d just ran a marathon; out of breath and sweaty and _uncomfortable_. Marceline’s fingers drummed along the edge of the wheel. Why wouldn’t the damn lights change?

“What did you want to tell me?” She finally sighed when the traffic started moving once more. “Or was it _that_ , because I-,”

“I’m gay, Marceline,” Bonnibel interrupted her. She really, _really_ didn’t want to know what Marceline had to say about her missing her. It was probably going to be something mean and teasing and it wouldn’t be productive for Bonnibel’s anxieties. But, still, blurting out that you’re a huge lesbian is probably something that could’ve been saved with a bit more tact. It’s a shame Bonnibel never had any of that. “That’s all that I wanted to tell you.” (But why?)

“Okay,” Marceline nodded. “But why?”

Bonnibel let her jaw go slack. It’s something she’d been asking herself all week. _Why_ ? She’s one hundred percent it’s got something to do with the other questions in her head to do with Marceline. All starting with _why_ and ending with a big fat blank. 

“I don’t know,” She admitted truthfully. “I… guess it’s the same reason I never ask any of my friends to drive me to and from uni.”

“Which is?” Marceline pressed, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. “Look, Bonnie, I-,” she stopped herself, cleared her throat, started again, “I’m flattered you came to me and all but I always had the feeling that we weren’t that…” Marceline frowned at nothing in particular, furrow between her brows. Bonnibel ached to smooth it away. Figuratively, of course (although, the thought of leaning over the gearstick to run her thumb along the other girl's cheek was strangely something she wasn’t adversed to). “ _Close_? God, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

But _god,_ maybe that’s Bonnibel _wanted._ Maybe she wanted Marceline as a friend, as someone she could comfortably confide in without a second thought, someone she was _close_ with. Maybe Bonnibel wanted Marceline to think about her the same way she thought about Marceline, wanted her to _care_ as much as she did. To understand these confusing feelings that dwelled in the pit of Bonnibel’s stomach.

Bonnibel swallowed and glanced down into her lap. “I’m sorry I snapped at you all those years ago,” was a sentence she hadn’t even planned on saying, but now it was out in the open and oh god does Marceline even remember that day? Does she even think about that _year_ as much as Bonnibel does? “I just-, I was going through a lot and I thought you wouldn’t _understand_ it and I was a dumb preteen who thought you were scary.”

Marceline’s lips quirked upwards, but there was sadness that seared in her eyes. “Yeah, well, I _do_ understand, alright? It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway, it’s not like it matters.”

“How?” Bonnibel mumbled weakly. 

Marceline frowned a little deeper. “How what, B?”

“How can you understand what I went through? I- I’m sorry, but it feels like something you have to experience yourself to _get_.”

There was a heavy pause in the conversation then, Bonnibel realising that maybe Marceline _did_ understand (and that maybe she didn’t care about Marceline as much as she thought she did). Fuck, Bonnibel wanted nothing more than to crack the door and topple out onto the black tarmac. Marceline just inhaled and held it for a little bit, furrow getting deeper and deeper as she stared at the car in front. 

“My mom died when I was little. Hence why I’ve lived with Simon all these years.” Marceline explained, voice cracking only the tiniest amount. It still made Bonnibel’s heart break, though. 

“I’m sorry for bringing it up.” Bonnibel whispered hoarsely. “I- I don’t even know _why_ I brought it up.”

“Y’know,” Marceline eyed her once more, an odd smirk on her face that set Bonnibel’s insides ablaze. “For a genius you sure don’t know a lot.”

Bonnibel snorted in spite of their previous conversation.

* * *

Bonnibel is eighteen when talking to Marceline becomes just that little bit easier.

* * *

Bonnibel is nineteen when Marceline calls her up to sheepishly ask if she could drive her to university. 

There are questions in her head, of course, most of them concerning Marceline’s wellbeing, but she pushes them aside because it’d take all of five minutes to drive over to her house and see for herself. 

As it turns out, she didn’t even have to drive over; Marceline is standing meekly at her door with a crutch resting under her armpit, taking all of her weight off of her left foot that was now sporting a red (of course it was red) cast. 

“You _walked_ ?” Bonnibel squawked upon opening the door. “I could’ve- You should’ve stayed in your house, you _idiot_.” 

And Marceline (bless her, really) could only stare at her wide eyed in shock, mouth falling open in her surprise. “I- Yeah, I walked,” Marceline spluttered. “It’s only… a whole block. Does it really matter that much?”

“ _Yes_ , it matters,” Bonnibel continued in her screeching, almost tailing that sentence with a ‘I care about you’. “I’m one hundred percent sure you’re told not to strain yourself after a break.”

Marceline rolled her eyes lightheartedly, shuffling to the side as much as her limited movement would allow for Bonnibel to step outside and lock the door. “I’m fine, Bon,” that was another for the ever growing list of nicknames that Marceline had come up with for her. 

Bonnibel sighed. “How’d you do that anyway?” She asked when they were both sitting in her car. Unlike Marceline, Bonnibel liked to wait until the heat was on before she set off driving on cold days. 

“Dropped an amp on it,” Marceline shrugged, glancing down at her encased foot while Bonnibel grimaced. “Thank _god_ I’m not required to be running about all day like you science nerds.”

It was Bonnibel’s turn to roll her eyes, pulling out of her driveway when the car began to get warmer. “If someone spills a chemical and they’re sitting down, what do you think is gonna happen, Marceline?”

Marceline shrugged. “Some X-Men shit, probably.” Bonnibel quietly smiled to herself and shook her head. “Hey, look at us, switching roles.”

Bonnibel arched her brow. “How do you mean?”

“I _mean_ you’re the one all cool and collected in the driver's seat and I’m the one being all awkward in the passenger seat.” Marceline explained around her usual smirk. Bonnibel huffed. She honestly felt a little called out. Had Marceline always _known_ when she was too in her head about things (read: all the time) or was Bonnibel too in her head right then too? Really, the irony of it all was that Marceline probably didn’t even mean it in that sense, nor did she _care_. 

Marceline is twenty two when she calls her up again, drunk and in desperate need of a sober driver, slurring her words and using every nickname Bonnibel had mentally compiled thus far. 

It’s absolutely ridiculous, really, when Marceline stumbled off of the curb and into Bonnibel’s car and the only thing Bonnibel could really focus was how attractive she looked with a bruised fist clutching a gushing nose. Which, okay, is an entirely unhealthy thing to find attractive but she quickly justified it in her head with the fact that Marceline was attractive all the time. Which… when she really thought about it, was also _super_ unhealthy and ridiculous and a thought that was quickly shaken from her head. She’d just have to deal with the fact that those two thoughts had come from her brain. 

“Hey,” Marceline said after a long stretch of silence in which Bonnibel had already set off driving. “‘M sorry ‘bout… _this_ ,” she gestured down at herself, regarding her shirt stained with alcohol and her blood. “Some _asshole_ insulted m’ best friend, so I decked him in the jaw.”

“And I’m guessing he got a lucky hit on you too, huh?” Bonnibel asked fondly. “There should be some tissues in the glovebox if you’d like to clean yourself up.” Marceline pathetically pawed at the glovebox, only managing to open it because her fingers caught on the handle. It took all of five seconds for Bonnibel to really understand how out of it Marceline was, watching out of the corner of her eye as she took five of the tissues in her fist and rubbed upwards, smudging the blood across her cheek to her temple. 

Bonnibel took the next traffic light as a chance to help her friend, taking a clean tissue to dab gingerly at Marceline’s nose while keeping a focussed eye on the changing of the lights. Marceline hummed out a ‘thank you’ in her drunken state. “Who’s honour were you defending, huh? Keila’s?”

Marceline shook her head no, resulting in more of a mess across her face. “Asshole said he’d seen me pick you up before,” She slurred. “Said his ex was a huge fuckin’ nerd and that somehow, _somehow_ she was only gay because she didn’t wan’ date him.” 

Bonnibel frowned. “Was he… short, brown hair? Kinda dumb?” 

Marceline nodded dumbly. “Said you were a whore,” she growled. “ _Please_ tell me you didn’t actually date him.”

“Yeah, Marcy, I dated him.” Bonnibel sighed. “Remember the guy I told you about that crashed my car? His name is Ciaron and, as it turns out, he’s a massive wad.”

Marceline’s face crumpled into a look of disgust before she winced at the pain it caused. “What are you doin’ datin’ wads? Why aren’t you datin’ someone cool?”

Bonnibel swallowed back the dumb response of ‘like you?’ that was on the tip of her tongue. That would take the conversation somewhere she wasn’t entirely ready to go to with a drunk Marceline (or a sober one for that matter). The rest of the conversation dissolved into drunken mutterings on Marceline’s behalf and gentle ‘hold still’s’ from Bonnibel whenever she found a moment to clean her friend up, trailing off into complete silence when she pulled up outside Marceline’s house, turning in her seat to face her once more. 

It was _completely_ and _utterly_ unfair how attractive Marceline was at any given time. Bonnibel was one hundred percent sure she woke up every morning looking positively gorgeous every single day. Gently cleaning her friends pretty face was only proving to be insanely difficult; one hand gently cupping Marceline’s jaw and the other wiping away the blood, leaning in just to make sure she was fine and that she’d clean her up sufficiently (there was also another reason, but Bonnibel was too much of a coward to admit that to anyone). It was then that Bonnibel’s vision was flooded with green and she found herself leaning forwards to kiss her. Almost hypnotised. Lips capturing lips despite the taste of cheap beer and her brain yelling ‘she’s drunk!’ at her over and over again. The senior’s lips were quite possibly the softest thing she’d ever brushed her mouth up against, trailed her tongue against or tasted. Marceline tasted like metal and booze. She snapped back to reality when she pressed further forward and Marceline flinched backwards, cheeks stained red for a completely different reason now. 

“I’m sorry,” Bonnibel gasped, blinking at her friend who was now probably a lot more sober than what she had been two minutes ago. “I really don’t know why I- I’m sorry, Marceline. You should go inside. Go to bed.”

Marceline remained staring at her for a few seconds longer before she unbuckled her belt and opened the door, stumbling out of the car with a seemingly permanent perplexed look on her face. Bonnibel just let her head fall onto the steering wheel. 

* * *

Bonnibel is nineteen when she realises she’s in love with Marceline, which is funny considering she’s entirely sure that the other girl hates her. 

The kiss had happened. Three and a half weeks had been and gone by in a hurry, and Bonnibel had gotten _nothing_ from the other girl on the communication front. Granted, Bonnibel had also been silent on her end, but… she assumed that that’s what Marceline would have wanted. Assumed she needed space and time to think about what had happened (and honestly so did she). 

December had crept up on Bonnibel like her feelings for Marceline had. But in place of the blazing heat in her chest all it left was ice and the bitter cold, chilling her to the bone whenever she stepped outside her house. The world _hated_ Bonnibel Banner. She was sure of it. Sure of it when she developed feelings for a girl that wasn’t even gay, sure of it when Marceline and her had argued in the car, sure of it when she first properly met the older girl in her living room, sure of it when it took her mother away and left her with all these shitty emotions and no one to confide in them with. 

Sure of it when her car just. Would. Not. Start. 

There was one option that would get her to uni on time. Her friends lived too far away. The busses had been running late all week due to the icy roads. Marceline was… just down the street, and her truck was sitting nicely in her driveway. 

Bonnibel set off (carefully, because their road was on a gentle incline) towards where Marceline was probably getting changed, which _wow_ was an incredibly dangerous thought. Hopefully she was just asleep. It wouldn’t bother her to show up late to lessons, anyway. Plus it was a much safer alternative than whatever the first thought was. Bonnibel huffed, breath visible in the frigid air around her, and halted in her tracks when she saw Marceline’s door open. 

It was like the first time she saw Marceline on campus. Mane of black hair, too-heavy-boots, guitar case and a cup of coffee. The older girl locked the door with her free hand, turned around to her car, caught sight of Bonnibel standing a few feet away from where her front garden started, walking the _opposite_ direction of where she needed to be in an hour. 

The silence clung to them like some sort of shitty metaphor for their lives. Bonnibel desperately wanted to say something, or _do_ something, but Marceline’s stare caught all words in her throat, rooted her down where she was standing. 

“Need a lift?” Cut through the stillness. Too casual - too _friendly_ to quell Bonnibel’s anxieties. 

She nodded anyway, but made no move to make her way to the car. “I’ll pay you.” She said instead, voice wavering because Marceline had told her she didn’t need to pay her since they were friends. 

She assumes Marceline thought about that too, if the frown on her face was anything to go by. “Uh, yeah, sure. Get in, I guess?” 

She sits down in the passenger seat and immediately starts fishing around in her bag for her purse. Marceline just puts a hand on her wrist, pulling her hand out of her bag and making Bonnibel _look_ at her (god how she wishes she didn’t _look_ at her). 

“You… You really don’t have to pay me, Bonnibel.” _Bonnibel_ . Ouch. Somehow that hurt more than the mutual ghosting. “We’re _friends_ alright?” Actually, no, _that_ hurt the most. 

“Except I do and we’re not,” Bonnibel insisted, looking away from her friends stupid pretty face to find her stupid purse she could pay her with stupid money to take her to the stupid university. “Because I ruined it and I’m _sorry_.” 

“What? Why are you _sorry_ , Bon?” 

“Because,” her eyes stung as she blinked away the tears that threatened to fall. No, sir. There would be no crying in front of the girl she had a pathetic crush on, at least not if Bonnibel had any say in it (which she didn’t). “Because I _kissed_ you and you were drunk and you’re straight and you _hate_ me.”

“Oh, Bonnibel,” Marceline sighed, voice oddly sad considering her placement in all of this. “Bonnibel, hey, look at me,” there was an inkling in the back of her mind telling her that she could have forgotten her purse at home, which would’ve made the entire situation so much _worse_. Still, though, Bonnibel peered up at her friend (god, fuck, that really did hurt) through a blur of tears. “You know, I’m super offended you think I’m straight.”

“God, _what_ ?” Bonnibel spluttered. “ _That’s_ the thing you take away from that? God, maybe I need to rethink this crush.”

Marceline smirked. “I mean, yeah, duh. I _totally_ hate you, which is why you’re in my car right now and I feel bad for making you cry.” 

She was _crying_? Fuck. Bonnibel swiped away at her damp cheeks, wanting nothing more than to prove Marceline wrong. No. It was just the cold weather. She didn’t care. “You… You’re not straight?”

“See now who’s taking away the wrong thing?” Marceline teased, prodding lightly at her shoulder. “God, you’re so dense. I thought you were a _genius_.”

Bonnibel scoffed lightly. “What made you think that?” 

“Oh, gee, I don’t know,” Marceline rolled her eyes upwards in thought. “Maybe the fact you brought a fuckin’ science experiment into my car when you were thirteen? Does that ring any bells, Einstein?”

“Hey-!”

“Don’t get me wrong, it was cute and all, but I’m fucking stupid.” 

Bonnibel blinked. “You thought it was cute?” She deadpanned. “I… I can’t believe you, Abadeer.”

“What? What did I do? You’re the one making out with tipsy girls that you’ve had a crush on for three years.”

“For starters,” Bonnibel started in a low huff, hating the blush that crept up her neck. God _why_ couldn’t Marceline just hate her? It’d make this so much _easier_ . “You really bruised my ego that day by being completely disinterested in my experiment. And, also, can we _please_ not bring that up? I said I was sorry and-,”

“You really don’t have to be.” Marceline cut her off. “I- Sure, I was a little drunk. And… yeah, okay, I haven’t spoken to you in the better half of a month, _but_ I only flinched back because you really hurt my nose. Your ex had bopped me one and you decided to make out with me?” 

The red in her cheeks deepened, much to the amusement of Marceline. “You didn’t even say anything.” Bonnibel muttered. “Which made me think you were extremely uncomfortable and-,” 

“I was _shocked_ that a nerd like you had the balls to kiss someone,” Marceline retorted lightly. “Plus, you know, it was… nice? God, shut up.” Honestly, Bonnibel wasn’t even speaking. How rude. “I- I guess I was thinking it over, giving it a nice mull.” 

Oh, Bonnibel hated that sentence. “You know you could’ve messaged me at least once to let me know you were okay with it.”

“Sure, yeah, let me text the girl who’d kissed me while I was drunk and bruised after defending her honour from her ex and say _what_ exactly? ‘Oh hello Bonnibel, I very much enjoyed it when your tongue was very nearly in my mouth, can we do it again sometime’?”

“I- _No_. You don’t have to be so weird about it.”

“Oh my god are you being serious right now?”

“Just- Tell me that you don’t hate my guts or something.”

“Bonnie, I just told you I wanted to kiss you again.”

“But _no_ , you had to _ghost me_ for three weeks and-,”

-and Marceline lurched forwards. But, the seat belt around her body locked in place at the sudden movement and she only really managed to get a few inches away from Bonnibel’s (now very red) face. 

Bonnibel had a very hard time not looking down. “Well, I’ve always been curious to know if that worked or not.”

Marceline frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Bonnibel rolled her eyes. “You never focus on the road when you’re driving.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had better things in my car to focus on for the past three years.” Marceline muttered around a smirk. “Now, if you could please kiss me, this is beginning to hurt my collar bone.”

Bonnibel had never been so happy to be late to a lesson before. 


End file.
